


Brotherhood

by Ilerre



Series: The Walking Dead Prompts - Dixoncest / Dixcest [1]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-04-12 16:04:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4485981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ilerre/pseuds/Ilerre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From a very early age, Daryl had always been tactile, but growing up in a rundown shack, with an alcoholic father and a disinterested mother had only served to make him weary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brotherhood

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt submitted by Higgystar:  
>  Could I prompt some Dixoncest please? Preferably something along the lines of the Dixon boys being physically closer than in canon, something like Daryl clinging to Merle, or using Merle as a climbing frame, or sleeping on top of him and Merle doesn't even react, he simply continues because to him it’s normal. Maybe someone at camp notices that Merle isn't an ass to Daryl, or at least not a complete ass, like Daryl’s the only person Merle gives a damn about. Maybe there is a walker attack on the Atlanta camp group and Merle is panicked about Daryl or something. Is that okay for a prompt? Just Dixoncest touches in public and then definite touches when they're alone. <3\. ******

0

From a very early age, Daryl had always been tactile, but growing up in a rundown shack, with an alcoholic father and a disinterested mother had only served to make him weary.

Weary of touching others, weary of _others_ touching him.

But never weary of touching Merle and climbing on him like a baby monkey. Daryl learnt to walk by grabbing Merle's shirt tail and by sheer force of his will to follow his brother everywhere.

When he was three, the boy decided he didn't need anyone else other than Merle and stuck to it for his entire life.

Now in the middle of the apocalypse, nothing had changed. They slept in their old truck, tucked against one another, Daryl curled up on him, breathing softly in the crook of his neck. They hunted together, shoulders brushing, arms stuck to one another.

Merle couldn't deny how awful a man he'd been most of his life, but he swore he did right by Daryl when he straightened his act and decided to take the kid away from their mother's ghost and their abusive bastard father.

The quarry was a godsend, and Merle wasn't stupid enough to let it pass. Daryl didn't want to join a group. Said they were fine just the two of them. Merle knew that, he knew they could get by, but he had an ulterior motive to join a group like the one at the quarry. Because if anything happened to him, at least Daryl wouldn't be alone. Daryl didn't do well when alone. He withdrew, stopped talking and just plain stopped existing.

Daryl needed people—even if he swore to the contrary—and the quarry was Merle's insurance that his baby brother wouldn't end up alone and stranded if Merle happened to end up dead or worse, a fucking _walker_.

The people at the quarry looked at them in mistrust. The cop—Walsh—proclaimed leader of the group, hesitated a long while before nodding reluctantly to let them join them. The others just looked at them like they were a pair of inbred rednecks, especially the chick Walsh was banging. She sneered when she thought they weren't looking, and muttered under her breath to her son not to approach them, as if they were going to hurt the kid or something.

Merle didn't care, he simply couldn't care less for those assholes, as long as Daryl was okay, and remotely functioning.

Nights were a different matter.

They never put a word to their relationship. It just was something they had done for as long as they could remember. When Daryl was seventeen and still sleeping in Merle's bed, they looked into each other's eyes and knew.

Knew there'd always be just the two of them against the world, and they had to stick together to the end. Merle's kisses where feather-like, sweet and loving on Daryl's lips and face, and Daryl hands were slow, tender and adoring on Merle's body.

They didn't need words. They loved each other. It was clear in everything they did together.

In the way they never really needed to talk to understand each other, in the way their bodies were tucked together around the fire at night—Daryl sitting in the cradle of Merle's legs, back to chest—in the way Daryl sighed in sheer pleasure when Merle brought him to orgasm in the dark of their tent…

They just were, and that was all. It wasn't twisted, it wasn't _wrong_ for them. They just needed one another. It might be immoral for everyone else, but they literally couldn't function independently. Merle might have gone by fifteen years alone before Daryl's birth, but the second that small piece of human being had been placed in his arms; he'd known he was finally complete.

"Jus' goin' to the city, baby," Merle grunted under his breath, strapping his knife to his hip. "To get supplies."

Daryl chewed on his thumb maniacally and pressed himself against Merle's back, his other arm wrapping around his waist. "Don't leave me," he muttered.

Merle sighed and rubbed his forehead, turning around and switching places with Daryl, wrapping his brother in his arms to sit Daryl on his laps, his face buried in the crook where neck met shoulder. He could feel some of Daryl's scar against his lips. Some rounds from cigarette burns, some long and thin, some ugly and thick. He'd never live a day where his guts didn't clench in guilty agony at the sight of his little brother's body covered in scars.

"Hey," he muttered, gently gripping the back of Daryl's hair to make him look him in the eyes. "Jus' a few hours, aw'right? I'll be okay."

Daryl narrowed his eyes and shook his head, looking up at the sky. "Got a bad feelin'," was all he said.

Merle nodded. As attuned to Daryl as he was, he woke up this morning with a foreboding feeling in the pit of his stomach, and no matter how long he spend muttering loving and endearing words in Daryl's ears this morning, he'd never managed to calm him down. "I know. But trust me."

Daryl looked at him in the eyes, same identical blue eyes as Merle's boring into his soul. "You can't leave me."        

Merle tightened his arms around his waist, slipping his fingers under Daryl's blue shirt to gently caress the warm skin of his hips. "I won't."

Daryl stared—into his soul and heart—before nodding. "Aw'ight, I'mma go huntin' some."

Merle grinned and pressed a kiss to the side of his mouth. "Bring'a deer."

Daryl snorted and stood in one swift movement, all predatory grace and feline beauty. " _Ya_ bring'a deer," he snapped, narrowed eyes looking Merle up and down one last time before grabbing his bow from the ground and disappearing into the forest.

0

Rick Grimes was about to abandon Merle Dixon on the rooftop and not feel bad about it when he called after him.

"Hey Officer Friendly, got a baby brother back at camp," he drawled, "he's not gonna make it without me."

The people around the cop stopped and stared at him, just a few step away from the door.

Grimes turned and stared at him, trying to decipher the lie, and Merle nearly snorted in disgust. Figure a man like Rick Grimes sure as hell wouldn't believe a man like Merle Dixon, and would think him capable of using any excuses to survive.

The cop had surely tagged him already. Dirty white trash, and willing to use any dirty tricks in the book to get what he wanted and save his own skin.

He saw the man hesitate. He saw him think through his actions, and about the consequences of leaving a man stranded on a rooftop.

Merle saw the process on the man's face. The moment he realized what he nearly did, abandoning a man to his death. And if there was one thing that any man didn't want to lose in this new hell, it was his humanity.

But for a brief instant, so brief Grimes could really pretend it didn't happen, Merle saw the temptation to leave and let him rot. Because why would a man like Merle Dixon deserve any leniency? 

Then something flickered in Grimes's eyes, and he pressed his lips together, probably guessing the little brother's wellbeing he was talking about depended on Merle coming back from the city. That Merle needed to go back for Grimes to avoid having to confess abandoning a man to his death just because he felt entitled to decide who should live or die.

Grimes could probably see the hardship and deep pain sculpted on Merle's hard face, from a life having to hold the role of protector. He probably also could see the longing to be back and see the person he loved again. 

And now, he looked at Grimes, ice blue eyes narrowed (— _not begging, Dixon men didn't beg for anything_ —) and waiting, patient, weighing the cop's worth. It was the end of the world, and Merle had to know what kind of man Grimes was, because he looked like he could protect Daryl if anything happened to him. 

After a long stare down, the cop grabbed the keys and rushed to Merle, still looking at him silently, but immensely relieved. They looked at each other for a moment, and Merle nodded curtly when Grimes unlocked the cuffs.

"Not bad, officer," he hummed quietly, standing slowly. "Ya worth somethin' after all."

0

It took Rick a while to regroup after finding his family and really _see_ Merle's brother.

Daryl Dixon wasn't what he imagined at all. In fact Rick couldn't really say what he imagined Merle Dixon's little brother would look like; probably some kind of meek and weak man, trudging behind Merle's big shadow and just waiting to get ordered around, because Merle didn't strike him like the kind of man to take orders from anyone, or just a mini-Merle, trying to emulate his big brother.

But Daryl Dixon was something else.

He wasn't tall but he was built like a swimmer; broad shoulders, strong muscled arms, slim wrists, and trim waist and flat toned abs visible through his checkered sleeveless shirt. He was somewhere between blond and brunette and his eyes were icy blue—the same as Merle's—and probably the only shared features between the brothers, because where Merle had a hard face worn out by the years, Daryl's was smooth and young, although it was quite impossible to know how old he was.

Rick guessed he was older than he looked, but he wasn't sure.

He had an aura surrounding him that made Rick ill at ease from the moment he saw him. _Too pretty, too dangerous_ , Shane would have said to him if they'd seen Daryl in a bar way back in the old life. Merle was dangerous but predictable, Daryl was a snake. He looked impassive and calm but he was coiled tightly and ready to jump and rip your throat out if you got too close.

He was beautiful with a kind of rare beauty men rarely possessed.

When Rick was able to gather his wits and get introduced to the whole group, Shane stopped midway to the Dixon brothers and shrugged helplessly, but the tight set of his shoulders gave him away. If it was only up to Shane, the Dixons wouldn't be with them, but they were useful, they were hunters and fed the whole group. Shane was an asshole but he still had heart…somewhere, and was able to realize how the Dixons were precious to the group. 

"Merle's a total jerk, but Daryl's…quiet. He doesn't really talk to anybody other than his brother," Shane muttered, gesturing at the brothers standing in front of their tent a bit away from the others.

As he turned, Rick could see Daryl close to Merle, face dark and clouded with anger, as he muttered quiet words to his brother. Merle was standing in front of him, hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched and he looked totally chastised, like a kid getting scolded by their mom.

 _Interesting_ , Rick thought. Maybe he'd been wrong about pegging Merle as the most dominating one after all.

"He doesn't talk?" he asked absently, eyes still fixed on Daryl's narrowed eyes.

Shane huffed. "Yeah," he said with a shrug, "He doesn't make a sound. Kinda creepy if you want my opinion."

Rick didn't want his opinion, but didn't say anything. And _not talking_ was surely an understatement because Rick could hear Daryl's voice getting higher and higher as the argument with his brother continued.

0

That night, Daryl was sitting between Merle's legs, resting against his chest and staring into the fire with a distant look in his eyes. He didn't seem interested in speaking or following the different conversation going on. His hands were flat on Merle's knees, and his silence and speechlessness was nearly louder than the other.

Tonight, the topic was about their previous lives, and Glenn was asking what the Dixons were doing before the walker started to rise.

"Mechanics," Merle answered curtly after a moment when it was clear Daryl wouldn't answer.

Rick blinked at Merle's answer and cautiously observed them. It was clear that Merle was protective of his brother, because Daryl was visibly weary of touch and flinched from any sudden noise and gesture towards him.

Yesterday when walking around the perimeter with T-Dog, Rick had seen Daryl bath in the creek and seen his back covered in scars. T-Dog had gasped but remained silent while Rick had battled the bile rising in his throat. He knew too well what caused those kind of marks, he'd been on the scene of way too many domestic violence and child abuse not to know.  

Daryl didn't trust anyone apart from Merle, and Shane's constant insults and borderline bullying towards the Dixons probably impeded whatever burgeoning trust he may have felt for the group.

Daryl was an enigma.

He was cold, near emotionless, distant, and downright rude when he was in one of his moods. He was volatile and Rick could see a barely concealed violence in his blue eyes, like an animal beaten one to many times and feeling trapped and ready to attack.

But opposite to all that, he was very caring and patient with his brother.

Merle and Daryl were very tactile. One had to be blind not to see the almost pathological need of Merle to always be near his brother and touch him to make sure he was alright, as well as Daryl's need for reassurance from Merle. Daryl always walked closer to him than necessary, shoulders often brushing against each other, Merle's arm thrown around his shoulder or around his waist, Daryl sitting between his legs in front of the fire, Merle gently rubbing his neck and communicating with their eyes and hands more than words.

It was strange for two grown men with their backgrounds to be so psychically connected.

Rick knew it spoke of hardship, of deep set trust, of love so strong they couldn't function without the other. Rick had heard Daryl being sick all night after he found out Merle had nearly been left on the rooftop.

Merle had been out of control that day, but that never excused Rick for abandoning a man to death. His simple rash decision told a lot of things about him. He had forgotten everything he was in the name of finding his son and wife, nearly sacrificing a life because it got in his way.

He didn't want to be like that. He didn't want to raise Carl in a world where his father decided it was alright to kill to get what he wanted.

He didn't know what the future held for them, but looking at the Dixon brothers, their familiarity, their adoration for each other, he thought the world wasn't so doomed after all. If people were still able to love like that, then they had a chance.

0

**Author's Note:**

> This work is unbetaed. Please feel free to point any typos you saw or missing words, or any sentences that just don't make any sense :)
> 
> [SUBMIT A PROMPT HERE](http://hillbells.tumblr.com/submit)


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